Saint's Wanderer
by stevebond1990
Summary: An accident sends the Lone Wanderer back into the Old World. They quickly discover it's not the Utopia most wasteland scholars predicted, caught in the violence between gangs, they're forced to pick a side to survive. Dangers line the path as shadows of the past loom overhead, but their time has only just begun.


Saints Wanderer

Welcome to the Row

I don't know how I ended up in the Old World, just that I did, I briefly heard a radio transmission on my PiPboy from somewhere called Big Mountain, but I didn't catch the details.

Looking around now, I think Post War DC wasn't as shitty as this, at least the whole city didn't fell like one huge dead end cess pit.

"Watches… I got watches here! Yo! Hey man, this shit'd cost yo six 'undred dollars in da store… aw, whatever… Watches…"

Twenty yards away, a whore in red struts up to a handsome guy with dark red hair "Hey baby, you lookin' for a good time?"

I have to admit, she's a damn sight hotter than I was expecting for the Row, or I'd ever seen, a shout distracts everyone.

"AW Hell No!"

A large white teen in yellow swings his arms at the gang tag, "Man, fuck the Rollerz."

The first black man looks to his friend with cornrows, "Levar, you gonna let those bitches disrespect us?"

Levar shakes his head and pulls out a spray can, "shit, what chu think?"

* * *

"Get outta here," I warn the whore and teen, the whore doesn't need telling twice.

I walk away at an angle to the brawl, eying the red Hollywood that drives up, I draw my .44 when the passengers aim their own weapons.

* * *

"Hector says Buenos Noches," the front passenger says, raising a T3k, the rear passenger hefting a K-6.

"Shit!" the mix of Kings and Rollerz draw a number of Vice 9 pistols and start firing.

The return fire is far more devastating, the smg takes down two of the Rollerz with the third legging it, brushing past me, and one King, the krukov claims a king, Levar living long enough to get closer when the front passenger reloads, but is also gunned down by the krukov.

A shout behind me, clues me in that the Roller has returned, sporting a krukov of his own, with both guns empty, the car driver floors it, but is killed by the Roller's fire, the car loses control, nearly flattening me and the teen as he dives to one side.

The car hits a store wall and bursts into flames, killing the front passenger and throwing the rear passenger clear.

I climb to my feet as the Roller, finishes the survivor, but is in turn killed by a surviving king.

The king turns to the kid, not seeing me, aiming his vice 9, "wrong time, wrong place, playa."

"Really?"

A blast like a cannon is followed by a high pitched scream, the king collapses, clutching his bloody crotch.

I walk up to the king and place the muzzle to his head, "shit happens, nigger."

A second shot ends the king, but I turn around to find I'm not alone, standing their looking equal parts shocked and wary are a black man in a leather jacket, flat cap and jeans, and a white bloke in a striped shirt, jeans and swinging a Shepard .44, the colour purple is featured prominently on both their outfits.

"You alright, playa?" the black guy asks, checking me, then the teen over.

"Yeah, too far away for ricochets," I reply as the kid nods numbly, kicking the king over, "dumb bastards aren't anywhere near as dangerous as the raiders I saw during my tour."

"You served in the Army?" the white guy asks as we head away from the burning car.

"More a private military company," I reply evasively, "I knew the Row wasn't the safest part of town, but this is taking the piss, the mayor make it a free fire zone or something?"

"Gangs are fighting over shit that ain't theirs and you were in the way," the black guy replied, "I'm Julius, that's Troy."

"Hey," Troy said, looking at the two of us, then going back to watching the street.

"The gangs will try to kill you whether you're representin' or not," Julius said.

Troy looked mildly annoyed at Julius, "Julius, this ain't time to be recruiting."

"We need all the help we can get," Julius retorted angrily, he turned to me, "Look, the Row's got a problem, come to the church if you wanna be part of the solution."

Juilius then got up and left with Troy, leaving us to my thoughts.

* * *

Walking into the graveyard, I wade into a sea of purple, standing out like a vault suit in Megaton, as I stop behind a guy with flat top hair with dyed tips and the kid.

"Hey, you alright?" I ask him.

"Yeah, thanks for yesterday," he says quietly in a Boston accent.

"Shit happens mate," I tell him, "wrong place, right time," I add as Julius steps out.

"Every muthafucka here knows what we need to do! Those bitches are ridin' round the Row thinkin' they own these streets. I don't care what flags they're flying… kings, carnales, rollers… no one's makin' this nigga scared to walk the Row. We gotta lock this shit down. Right now!"

The sea of purple cheers Julius' speech, until the guy in front of me turns round.

"Fuck Yeah. "Who the fuck's these two?"

"Who me?" I ask sarcastically.

"You see any other walking arsenals round here?" the guy retorts, eying the assault rifle on my shoulder, the pistol on each thigh and the knives on my shoulder and hip.

"Troy and I found 'em," Julius explained, "I was gonna see if they'll roll with us."

"Julius, if they want ta run with the Saints, dey got to be canonised," the asshole argued.

"He's right, Julius," Troy agreed, "everyone had to do it."

Julius looks at me, "ready for this, playa?"

I crack my neck, scooping out the competition, the teen doing the same with the five surrounding her, "I got it, oh, asshole, check your pocket."

Said asshole glares at me, then checks his pockets, freezing solid when he reaches the back pocket.

"Never turn your back on someone you just pissed off," I warn as he gingerly extracts the grenade I planted, fortunately the pin was still in, "never know what they might do, especially someone with swift fingers."

"Got it," he says, his voice slightly strained as the other Saints back away slowly from him.

* * *

The canonising quickly becomes a textbook raider brawl, minus the improvised and cruel weapons.

Six guys, swinging wide and crudely blocking… shit, they were pansies to a former Pitt fighter.

In two minutes all six were either groaning on the ground or unconscious.

"Well shit," the asshole said, unwillingly impressed.

Troy walked up and shook my hand, "you earned your colours today."

Another Saint came up behind me, clapped me on the back, "That's some impressive shit, only other Saint who kicked ass like that was Johnny."

The now named asshole postured, "didn't quick break my record, but pretty close."

A high pitched yelp announced the kid finishing his last foe.

"Make that two new badasses," Dex amended.

Julius came over as the guy came up next to me," welcome to the 3rd street saints," he said, fist bumping both of us.

"Alright, lets get down to business," Julius said, turning serious, "if we're serious bout takin' back the Row, we gotta let those muthafucks know what time it is. Now, you break it down and its all about respect. Get enough of it, they're gonna back off, and we're gonna move right on in. we got some friends in town that could use some help, give 'em a hand. Course, you could just drop any muthafucka flyin' the wrong flags. So long as word gets out the Saints is on the Row, I don't care how it happens. You feel me."

Everyone agreed then began to break up, some heading into the church, others hanging around to drink or smoke, the rest headed for their cars.

"So what now?"

I looked down at the teen, who's at least four inches shorter than me, looking rather nervous.

"You got a gun?" he shook his head so I unstrapped the ten mill on my left thigh and gave it to him.

"N-99 ten millimetre semi-automatic pistol, twelve round straight magazine, accurate to a hundred and fifty yards," I explain, showing him how to hold it and operate the safety and magazine release, "the ten mill round is more expensive and the magazines are custom, but only sidearm better for dropping assholes is a .44 in my opinion."

He takes the holster, attaches it to his belt, then starts going through the motions I just demonstrated, quickly committing the motions to memory.

"You're a quick learner," he blushed at the praise, "I never got your name?"

"It's Jonathon, friends call me Jon," he said quietly.

"Mine's Falk, it's Norse," I said, then gestured him to follow me, "come on, let's see if Troy has something for us."

The man in question came out as they reached the steps, "alright, I got a job for you two," he said, then turned to Jon, "you got a piece?"

Jon patted his new gun, Troy nodded, "good, several Vice Kings have moved into the Row, we gotta take 'em out."

"Just point them out."

* * *

Ten minutes later.

"Chu lookin' at, muthafucka?"

"A dead man," the King doesn't have time to reply as I put a round in his gut, then two more in his chest.

Troy and Jon fire their own weapons at the second king on the corner, the man shudders comically as nearly two clips worth of bullets alternate hitting his left and right sides.

"Keep an eye out for …"

"Fuckers!"

I aim and fire at the king that came to investigate the gunfire, dropping him in two shots, I then take cover behind a car, taking the chance to reload as Jon and Troy drop the asshole behind him, I rose in time to see the last king level a krukov at Troy.

In a single, fluid movement, my magnum is up and I fire, the king's head exploding like a ripe melon.

"Damn," Troy exclaimed, "Thanks man."

"Make it a pint at the bar of your choice?" I offered, swapping out the spent cartridge, I look up as I hear Spanish, a red van passes us, three carnales in the front, checking us out and laughing at the dead kings.

"We should check that out," I suggested, walking after the van, which bizarrely carries on at walking pace.

* * *

Ten minutes later we're down the road from an abandoned off licence in Athos Bay.

"This just gets better and better," I mutter, counting the number of shadows moving around through the poorly boarded up windows.

"Damn it, how did we miss this?" Troy cursed, watching the carnales unload the van.

"A dozen at least," I think aloud, "we could take them."

"Alright, me and the kid'll go in the front, you watch the back."

As Troy and Jon head inside, I slip into the alley, I draw my bowie knife and crawl under the only car, I puncture the fuel tank five time, making the holes as big as possible.

The car will trap the van, as its in front of it, and if I escapes, I'll be waiting.

* * *

"Fuck! Get him!"

Jon jumped over a crate, following Troy out the back door, just in time to see the carnales lieutenant climb into a car.

"Fuck, where's Falk?"

"Never mind, after him!" Troy shouted, climbing in a Vegas.

* * *

I reload my rifle just as a grey Vegas tears around the corner, and ploughs into the stranded carnales vehicle.

"What the Fuck?!" Troy groaned, climbing out of the car, clutching his head.

"Just a little sabotage," I explain, helping him up, pointing to the trail of petrol as his head stops ringing.

"Huh?" Troy says, "nice work," he added, noting the bullet riddled carnales they'd been chasing.

"We should head back, give Julius the good news," I said.

* * *

I walk in behind Gat and Jon, "Julius on his soap box?" I ask.

Both nod and I turn to listen.

"…gonna be settled until the carnales, rollerz and the Vice Kings are nothing but a memory," Julius said, he then pointed to Dex, "Dex, you got the Carnales. Ever since they hooked up with the Columbians, it's like they own this town, with that drug money coming in, we can't compete. Be smart how you deal with them. The Lopez family been running that gang for thirty years, there's a reason they're still around."

"Got it," Dex agreed.

"Troy, you're dealing with the Vice Kings…"

"Not a chance," Troy argued.

"Fuck You Say!" Julius demanded.

"Anyone but them," Troy insisted.

"You scared of going against Ben King?" Julius asked.

"Man, Fuck that," Gat interrupted, "I'll take King out."

"Johnny, it's not that simple," Julius tried.

"Bullets still kill muthafuckas, right?" Gat asked.

"Put enough lead into something, it'll die," I assure him, earning a look from everyone.

"Don't get much simpler than that," Gat finished, looking smug.

"Keep an eye on ya boy," Julius ordered Dex.

"Julius! I don't need a fucking babysitter!" Gat protested.

"Keep. An. Eye. On. Ya. Boy," Julius repeated.

Dex nodded, "Who's got the Rollerz?" he asked.

"I do."

We all looked around to see a beautiful Asian woman in blue track pants and a black top that tightly hugged her large breasts walk in.

"Lin?" Gat asked incredulously, "The fuck you wearing blue for?"

"Plant?" I suggested, watching her ass before shaking my head, _'there's only one woman I could ever be with'._

"That's right," Julius confirmed, "I asked Lin to hook up with the Rollerz, we don't know much about these muthafuckas, so I wanted one of us on the inside."

One of the other saints leered at Lin, "I didn't know the Rollerz pimped hos."

Lin gave him a look then landed a right to the idiot's jaw, she then looked around, "Any other comments?"

"Yeah, when you punch, don't throw your shoulder so much," Gat suggested.

"You're over committing," I added, smiling as she glared at us.

"Shut up Johnny," she looked at me, I gave her a look that said _'I've killed things that'd make you shit you frilly French knickers, I ain't scared,'_ "and you!"

"One we're done here, go talk to one of these guys, they'll have something for you to do. It's our time now, let's get this shit started," Julius then walked off the platform and into the old priests office.

"So you two are Julius' new boys huh?" Gat asked, looking me and Jon over, "Don't look like much," he observed, though more to Jon than me, "Then again, I don't look like I got an eight inch cock, so I guess we're all full of surprises," he bragged.

"Eight, is that all? I'm ten by three and a half," Dex coughed suspiciously as Gat looked taken aback.

"Care to put your money where your mouth is?" Gat dared.

I just looked behind him, "hey Lin, we borrow you for a minute?"

She walked over, taking note of Gat hiding his nerves, "boys?"

"Gat here was bragging 'bout his twig, I in turn bragged back," I explained, "now he wants to see if he measures up. I wanted you to do because A) you're female, no offence guys but I don't swing that way, and B) you're gonna be impartial seeing as we both pissed you off just now."

Lin glared at me with her hands on her hips, "What makes you think I'd be interested?"

"And miss the perfect chance to hit Gatsby right where it hurts?"

Gat mouthed the word as Dex, Jon and Lin sniggered.

"Read a book pleb," I added.

"You're right, no chance I'd miss that," Lin admitted, pulling a tape measure from her pocket, "ok boys, drop 'em."

It took me a little longer to unbuckle both my belts, Lin took the opportunity to measure Gat.

"Eight inches by two and a quarter," Lin announced, "not bad, Aisha's a lucky girl."

Gat preened at the praise, but his expression turned to shock as my jeans hit the floor.

"Wow," I jumped slightly at the sudden contact, Lin quickly took the measurement before the natural reaction kicked in, "Six Inches limp, damn."

I couldn't help grinning, but I jumped again as Lin's hands explored my sack and inner thighs.

"The fuck happened?" she asked, her slender fingers dancing over my lemon sized orbs and then to my thighs, right over the pale scar tissue, "there's no hair, nor any sign of growth either… and what's with the discolouration?"

"I got too close to a merc with a flamethrower two months into my tour," I admit, shame burning in my cheeks, "I'm lucky I just lost my pubes with a little scarring, the two guys with me lost half their faces and an eye."

"Lucky you," Lin agrees, finally releasing my balls to wrap the tape around my shaft, she notes a little discolouring near the tip, "did your cock get burned too?"

"Doc had to operate to remove the foreskin after it was burned shut," I can't help shiver at the memory, not noticing the same reaction from the other guys, "couldn't piss without agonising pain for months."

I wince as Lin gives my balls a mild slap," girls generally don't like guys to have hair down here," she then stood up, "Ten and a quarter inches by three and a half, sorry Gatsby," she then looks at me as I pull my jeans up, "If you ever want to just hang out…"

"Don't," I tell her, I can't keep the sadness off my face, "there's only one woman I want."

"If you ever change your mind," I notice she winks at Jon that walks away, ensuring she draws attention to her ass.

"Anywhere were us new guys can crash?" I ask as I buckle my belts.

"Yeah, there's an apartment here in the Row, right Gatsby?" Dex said, teasingly.

"Fuck you Dex!" with that, Gat stormed off to the vestry.

"Here's the address," Dex gave me a piece of paper.

I read it then look at Jon, "wanna check it out?"

He nods and we head out to where he parked his car.

* * *

"This place is a shithole!"

I grimace as I look around, the common house in Megaton was better kept.

It was a three room, ground floor apartment: bedroom, bathroom, kitchen/living room.

"You take the bed, I'll take the couch," Jon eyes the bed apprehensively, but eventually tests it.

"I'm going to have a kip, see you back at the church," I say as he walks out and heads to leave, Jon nods and leaves, I let out a breath I didn't know I'm holding when the door closed.

I open the duffle I've been carrying and start sorting through it, coming across a sash I can use as my flags.

I find my old Lyons Pride helmet, lying on its side, as I lift it up to look at it, something falls out.

I pick it up, it's a set of holo tags with the chain wrapped around a sip of paper, unwrapping the chain, I look at the number… I'd know that number anywhere.

Flipping the tags over confirms my thoughts, Sarah's tags.

I open the note:

_Falk_

_I'm sorry I couldn't come with you, a day doesn't go by when my heart doesn't yearn for you, but I couldn't just leave_

_I know it sounds harsh, but you are free in a way I'll never know; your father is dead but his dream lives on, the Vault turned its back on you, the settlements no longer need your help, the Brotherhood doesn't need you_

_You have seen through all your commitments and obligations, you aren't bound to anything here any more_

_But I am, I have my responsibilities to the Brotherhood, not only that but everyone seems to be expecting me to take my Father's place when he retires or dies_

_I asked Charon to slip my tags into your pack the next time he sees you, this way a part of me will always be with you wherever you go, even though I can't be there in person_

_Whatever happens, please stay safe. It kills me inside when you're gone for weeks or months without word, some days all that keeps me going is seeing you again_

_I love you Falk, please come home_

_Sarah_

I'm barely aware of the tears running down my cheeks and staining the page, only now is it hitting home.

I put the not back in the helmet and the tags around my neck, before I settle back on the couch. I fall into a fitful sleep, filled with shattered dreams and haunted nightmares.

* * *

"God you haven't changed at all, have you," I walk into the vestry just as a dreadlocked black girl sits down in front of Gatsby.

"What's up?" I asked Jon, who just shrugged.

"Well some of us don't have a couple a million dollars to make changes," Gat retorted.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" again Jon shrugged.

"It's always the same shit with you," the girl said.

"Aww, here we go again," Gat complained.

"What did you want me to do? Did you expect me not to take my shot?" the girl demanded.

"No, I expected you to remember where you came from," Gat argued, sounding like he was talking to a dim child.

"Oh, Fuck You, Johnny," the girl Exclaimed.

"Fuck Me? Fuck You!" Gat retorted, "you're the one who ran off to be famous. The only time you remember who we are, is when you want something!"

"My sister was kidnapped," the girl deadpanned.

"And I brought her back, didn't I?" Johnny countered.

"No," the girl argued, then pointed at Jon, "he did."

"Rescuing damsels in distress?" I ask, earning a bashful look, "not bad for your first day."

"Bullshit!" Johnny shouted, "I told him to do it, no offence."

Both Jon and I hold our hands up to say _leave us out of it._

"Look, if you're gonna help me? Help me, but don't you dare try to hold it over me," the girl said.

"You know what," I said, fishing out a silver packet then tossing it to Gatsby, "call us when you're done.

I then pulled Jon out of the vestry and shut the door.

* * *

Lin walked over to our poker game, "you guys seen Gat?"

I held up my hand in a _listen_ gesture, sure enough they were still at it.

"Err… how long have they?" Lin asked, eying the vestry door.

I checked my PIPboy, I'd built a modified version years ago that was considerably smaller, most Saints thought it was a fancy watch, "about three hours."

Lin did a double take, "you've had to listen to them…"

"It was worse before Dex plugged the hole in the vestry ceiling," I told her, "I raise."

Jon folded as Dex and the two others matched the bet, "alright, let's see those cards"

Dex cussed as he saw my straight, both the others had three of a kind, threes and Jacks, Dex had two pair.

As I collected my winnings, Jon's phone went off, he read the text then gestured to the vestry, I got up to follow him after securing my winnings.

* * *

Jon knocked on the door to be safe, we went in after a muffled reply.

The table was oddly shiny, Gat looked like he'd been through a spin dryer and the girl had that thoroughly shagged glow.

"Guys, allow me to introduce you to Saints Row's claim to fame. This… is Aisha, and tonight we're gonna kill her."

"He's being melodramatic," Aisha sighed, "see, I'm signed with Kingdom Come Records."

"And it's no secret the label is owned by the Vice Kings," Gat added.

"And the real deal is that once you're in, you can't get out. They rip you off left and right and they extort you to stay signed. I've talked to Johnny and he said you might be willing to help me," Aisha said.

"One question," I said, reaching into my duffle, "Saute?" I put a .44 magnum on the table, "Fricasse?" I put five sticks of dynamite on the table, "or Flambe?"

Johnny falls of his chair at the pigskin sized nuke.

* * *

I slip a trenchcoat over Aisha's shoulders as she ditches her hat, "Damn," is all she can say.

I have to admit, it's the most spectacular explosion I've seen in a long time, I just hope my little calling card throws the cops off the scent, "Come on, we need to go."


End file.
